Category Archives: Seatmate Shenanigans

Drunk and Orderly

17 Monday Feb 2014

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First post of 2014 – and we have some catching up to do!

Trip type: Personal-ish

Airline: Delta

Route: MSP-PHX / PHX-MSP

In January I was off to Arizona for a Junior League conference in Scottsdale. After the godawful winter up in the tundra, I was looking forward to thawing for a long weekend with some of the most brilliant and hilarious women I know. First though, I had to get there.

Shenanigans at the airport were minimal. I’m still traveling with the pump and always get a little anxious about whether TSA is going to want to completely dismantle it at security, but there seems to be some healthy leeway granted in the Pre Check lane.

On the plane, I met my seatmate early on. He seemed fairly nondescript when I first sat down—middle-aged, mild mannered, quiet—but looks can be deceiving. It wasn’t until the drink cart started making his rounds that things got interesting.

As soon as it popped into our line of sight, 18B reached for his wallet. On-plane drinking is certainly something I too enjoy, but on a morning flight in business casual, I have to wonder if there’s a great story. My money was on a gin and tonic or Bloody Mary so imagine my surprise when he ordered three Chardonnays. Yes, three. Just right off the bat. On the one hand, I admired that he just went for it (and wouldn’t be calling the flight attendant back every 20 minutes for a refill), but on the other hand—really?

18B proceeded to throw back bottle after bottle after bottle in fairly short order before lolling his head toward me, muttering “You’re a dream”, and promptly passing out. It was a magical time.

I must have requested big drinkers when I booked my ticket because the same thing happened on the way home. This time it was a younger gentleman but he too whipped out his credit card the minute the wheels of the drink cart were in motion. He ordered two Bloody Marys (maybe this is binge-drinking etiquette on planes? Order them all at once?)  with beer backs and settled in. Unfortunately, he did not find me as dreamy.

All in all, not such a bad start to another glorious year up in the air. I’m not sure how much I’ll be flying this year (less than my craziest years but more than last year), but you can be sure I’ll be blogging about it!

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Pumps on a Plane

30 Monday Sep 2013

Posted by in Seatmate Shenanigans, Un-fun Up in the Air

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Trip type: Personal

Airline: Delta

Route: SNA-MSP

Apparently very confident after last week’s trip to Detroit, I was back in the air Wednesday morning and off for a quick trip to California.

Although the trip itself was short, a flight to Southern CA is no joke. As I knew I’d arrive and have to get moving right away (on both legs), I broke it to myself that I would have to pump en route. In an airplane bathroom. I did not take it well. If you find yourself in a similar situation, here are my tips:

  1. Plan ahead. Although I was pleasantly surprised to find the plane had an outlet in the bathroom (how have I missed so many opportunities to re-straighten my hair in flight?!), this is not a guarantee. Thus, I purchased a battery pack for the pump as well as eight rechargeable batteries and a battery charger. I also brought a small cooler bag with frozen gel packs. (TSA will check and they must be frozen solid at security.)
  2. Get over it. As I realized in my trip to Detroit last week, you gotta just suck it up and roll with it. I don’t like talking about bodily functions with strangers any more than the next person, but I forced myself to get over it. I told the flight attendants what I was doing so that they wouldn’t beat down the door wondering why I was taking so long or try to make me take my seat if there was turbulence. (I also told them as I hoped they might let me pump in their flight attendant area in the back of the plane but no such luck.)
  3. Make others get over it. On my flight back, I caused quite a back-up of people trying to use the bathroom. Of course I felt bad that I had made them wait so long but I don’t have a lot of options here (see #2 above about hoping to use the flight attendant’s space). I walked out to find about 10 men glaring at me so I just held up the little bottles and said, “Sorry, baby business.” A few turned red. A couple gave nervous chuckles. I think we were all friends after that but you know what? I don’t care. A plane is a flying bus and we’re all doing our best to cohabit and get to point B.  Sorry that you have to fly with other humans.

Aside from pumping adventures, there was some other flying fun as well. First was the head flight attendant, Steve, who gave a very funny little diatribe about shutting off devices at the start of my flight home: “Ok people, I need them turned all the way off. You’re not clever just turning it to airplane mode. Let me tell you a little story about a guy who didn’t turn off his phone last week. His seat neighbor turned him in and now he’s on the FAA watch list for two years. So let this be your cautionary tale because today is my Friday and I don’t want to fill out that much paperwork. Just turn ’em off.” Message: Received.

Also on the way home, I sat next to a very old woman. Very. Old. She was nice enough but probably shouldn’t have been left alone in a middle seat (graciously, her son and daughter-in-law were sitting up in first class. The son sort of offered to switch seats with her when we were about an hour away from Minneapolis. She declined.). She spent most of the flight reading tabloids (favorite headline: “I’m the real life Tin Man”) and loudly hacking and sneezing into tissues which she methodically shoved under her legs until the end of the flight when she carefully drew them out from under her and stuffed in an air-sick bag. It was amazing.

Our pilot told us several times that we were going to arrive early in Minneapolis which could only mean that something would happen to ensure we didn’t arrive early after all. Just when I was thinking he might be right, literally seconds before we were going to land (the engines had been cut and everything), we abruptly aborted the landing and pulled back up into the air. There was some nervous chatter as we quickly climbed back up into the air before the pilot came on to tell us there was a plane that took too long taking off and was still on the runway when we were supposed to land. Neat. He also told us (once we were safely on the ground 10 minutes later) that it was only the second time in his 35-year career that had happened. Double neat. Please bookmark this under “Things I never want to hear from my pilot.”

At any rate, home once again, I’m looking forward to staying put. At least until next month. Which is tomorrow.

The Unkindness of Strangers

21 Monday Jan 2013

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Trip type: Personal

Airline: Delta

Route: BDL-MSP

Apologies for the delay on this post; it’s been a busy start to 2013!

The story I’m about to regale you with, from our flight back from visiting E’s parents in Connecticut for the New Year, includes another apology of sorts as I’ve been a little remiss in keeping you all up to speed…E and I are adding another traveler to the pack with a baby due this May. Whee!

(So yes, if you’re mentally counting, Phoenix, Montreal (and the failed trip to Montreal), and Tokyo all happened while I’ve been gestating. I’ll write a separate post on the perks and pitfalls of flying pregnant because it’s certainly changed my perspective on a few things. Like the fact that I should qualify for pre-boarding since it takes so much exertion to get myself on a plane these days.)

Anyhoo–we’re very excited for spring! It will definitely mean a bit of a hiatus on the ol’ blog but I hope you will forgive me. Just think of the posts to come of me flying with a child and all its accompanying crap! [Shudder.]

Back to my story. Thanks to our recent trip to Tokyo, we got upgraded on both legs of our Connecticut trip this December. I missed the free booze but E’s drinking for three these days so we got our money’s worth. The flight out went smoothly despite the long wait for some hydraulic meter to be reset and then de-icing but we arrived mostly on time and had a lovely and restful mini-vacation to the East Coast.

When we got our upgrade notification for the flight home, I was surprised to see that we’d been split up (2D and 4D). Upgraded beggars can’t be choosers, however, so we figured we’d just ask someone nicely to switch with us. Surely a Minnesota-bound flight would be filled with kind people who would want a pregnant woman to sit with her husband, right? Especially when we’re all in first class anyway? Wrong.

Assuming our best bet would be getting the person in 4C to move up to my seat in 2D, E told me to look as pregnant as possible as he asked the gentleman seated in the coveted seat. And he said no. No! Can you believe it? His father was in the first coach row bulkhead seat just behind him and he wanted to keep close. I mean, I guess I get this to a degree, but it’s a two hour flight and I was looking really pitiful. Sigh.

Onto contestant #2, the woman who came to sit next to me. I was already in my window seat and very pleasantly asked her if she would mind taking my husband’s seat in 4D, all while attempting to look as adorable and fat as possible. It sort of worked: like a true Minnesotan, I got a huffy, passive-aggressive, “Fine.” Really? It’s not like I asked you to sit in the last seat of coach that doesn’t recline. Or asked you to take a later flight. Or asked you to gouge your eyes out with cocktail skewers. I thanked her as graciously as possible and rolled my eyes at E when he sat down. People.

And finally, we were home and ready to start what will be a very exciting year. In addition to the addition, we’re also building a house and I’m becoming President-Elect of the Junior League of Minneapolis (erm, the day after the baby’s due date). So, you know, keeping things real. Real busy.

Next trip is this week actually–as President Elect-Elect of the JLM, I am off to a winter conference in Las Vegas. Gotta get the miles while I’m still able!

A Lesson in Patience

07 Sunday Oct 2012

Posted by in Seatmate Shenanigans, With love from the Tarmac

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Trip type: Business

Airline: Delta

Route: MSP-PHX

In case we haven’t already established it, I am short on patience. (And if you’re hoping from the title that I actually learned a lesson in the virtue of patience, you may be disappointed.) My recent flight to Phoenix for a work conference only confirmed that I should probably have my blood pressure checked.

At any rate. The ways my patience was tried–let me count the ways…

  1. No room at the inn. It’s happened to friends of mine, but I’ve never experienced the hell that is driving up to Terminal 1 and finding that all the ramps are full. FULL. Arg. Thank goodness I always go to the airport two hours early so that I had time to drive to Humphrey and then light rail it over.
  2. “Do I have to take my shoes off?” Security is definitely a place where you need to take a deep breath and tune out the idiocy surrounding you. That is, unless you’re in the PreCheck lane. I don’t think it’s inappropriate to expect more from PreCheck compatriots so imagine my annoyance when the woman in front of me clearly did not understand that she was in the fast lane. “Do I have to take my shoes off?” No. “Should I take out my laptop?” No. “Oh [after the metal detector goes off], but I need to take my belt off?” FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. The TSA agent did apologize to me for the delay (of 48 seconds) so that was appreciated anyway.
  3. A man of the book. That was how the guy across the aisle introduced himself when I asked what he did. How do I always attract these people? And why do I insist on talking to them?
  4. The classiest man on earth. My seat mate (with the middle seat) showed up with a sack of Chik-fil-a which gave me instant nausea just thinking about the stale french fry smell that was soon to encompass me. He made snide commentary during the entire safety film and pilot’s announcements. And then he fell asleep. As he was already protruding from his seat onto mine, it was only a matter of time until his arm started drifting over the armrest he had claimed and into my seat. After several attempts to politely jostle him, I finally just shoved his arm back onto him. But we weren’t done yet…as his sleep deepened, he began to snore and then to ever so slightly fall over onto me. Unfortunately for him, when this happened I was totally ensconced in my work and jumped, effectively scaring the crap out of both of us. (Don’t worry, he easily fell back to sleep and we got to repeat the process.)
  5. The Parisians are coming. Boarding seemed to go incredibly smoothly, which should have been my first clue that something was about to go wrong. The reason for the smoothness, it turned out, was that half our plane was coming from a delayed connection from France. Thirty minutes after we should have departed, the French arrived. Because I’m such a Francophile, I’m usually the first to defend them…but not this time. The lot of them seemed to have no idea that they’d been on a late flight and lallygagged their way onto the plane. Finally all aboard (and after telling one woman, in French, that no, she could not just sit in the seat beside me because it was vacant (my classy seat mate was in the restroom)), I was ready to roll…alas, we still had to wait for the French luggage. An hour after we should have departed…we finally did. Patience: officially tried.
Inc. 500 | 5000 Awards Conference

With the editor-in-chief of Inc. Magazine accepting the Inc. 5000 award

Luckily, everything was much better once I made it to Arizona (well, once I located the taxi stand. Not big on any extra signage in the basement of the airport). I spent my days going between the ice-cold conference rooms and the sweltering 100 degree oven that is Phoenix.

Then, E flew down Friday once his conference in L.A. wrapped up to escort me to the award ceremony of the Inc. 500 | 5000 conference (where I picked up my company’s hardware, see right) and we spent the following day exploring Sedona. All in all, a great getaway to the southwest.

I’m sure it’s been unbearable without my frequent updates so get excited–my next trip is Thursday as we are off to Canada for a family wedding. Hopefully my patience will not be further tried.

Sedona, Arizona

Lovely Sedona

‘No’ Nonsense

29 Tuesday May 2012

Posted by in Fun with Security, Seatmate Shenanigans

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Trip type: Personal

Airline: Delta

Route: MSP-AUS

The word ‘No’ is one you hear frequently at the airport, especially from TSA and airline staff: “No, you can’t bring that bottle of hairspray in your carry-on”; “No, you can’t put your dog through the X-ray machine” (true story–I once saw a woman contemplating whether she was supposed to carry her Shih Tzu or put it on the conveyor), “No, you can’t jam your roller board under the seat in front of you if there isn’t any overhead space.” You catch my drift.

When the word ‘No’ comes from a fellow passenger however, things get decidedly more interesting. En route to Austin for a wedding last week, E and I observed two such instances:

#1: “No, I shall keep my jacket.”

My first story happened within 10 minutes of arriving at the airport (always a great tone to set for an afternoon of flying fun, no?). After scanning in at the podium, E and I queued at the third of four conveyors as it appeared that some altercation was going down on the fourth conveyor. In fact, the fourth conveyor was completely stopped, giving off a post-apocalyptic vibe with all its luggage and bins frozen on their way to the X-ray machine.

Beside the abandoned lane was a family made up of about eight 20-somethings and one old man who was probably in his mid-70s. E and I quickly pieced together that the issue was with the older man who was dressed in a full suit and not speaking English. The younger family members were animatedly arguing with him as he, apparently, did not want to remove his suit jacket. After finally coaxing it off of him several minutes later, he did not want to relinquish it. He just kept yelling what I can only assume was, “No, I shall keep my jacket!” Or something to this effect.

The polite Minnesotans all around this debacle clucked concernedly to each other as the perturbed TSA agent kept (helpfully!) interjecting that the jacket went through the machine or the man didn’t fly.

I don’t know what became of this group. We clearly needed drinks after the steep emotional toll of observing this all go down so once through security, we were off to Surdyk’s.

#2: “No, I don’t think I can do that.”

As is my usual wont, I had booked us in exit rows for both ends of the trip. Settled in to Row 9, the Delta agent came by to get our verbal confirmation that we would all be willing and able to help in an emergency situation. Seated to E’s left (on the aisle) was an older woman who, when asked if she could help in an emergency situation, answered, “No, I don’t think I can do that.”

Now, on the one hand I have to give her kudos for her honesty. She certainly didn’t look like she’d be the most useful in a high-adrenaline situation (there’s no way she could have done anything with a 42 pound door) so it was definitely for the good of the plane that she responded in the negative.

On the other hand, why the deuce did she book an emergency row in the first place?

At any rate, the Delta flight attendant handled the situation calmly. He took her response in stride and suggested another seat for her…which she turned down. Yes, it was at the back of the plane but oy. She then suggested that she’d stay in her seat after all but the flight attendant told her that she’d already said no and therefore he had to respect that response and move her. As you can imagine, there was no shortage of passengers willing to switch with her so it didn’t take long to get the whole thing sorted. Plus, her replacement looked much more able-bodied should any disasters have arisen.

After a whole lot of surprising ‘no’s, we were finally off to the capital of Texas. Yeehaw and whatnot.

Home now, several things have been reaffirmed for me:

  1. I could die happily if I got to eat Migas daily.
  2. E can cut a serious rug.
  3. I am not built for heat. I was mostly a melty pool of Minnesotan for three straight days.

Until the next trip, y’all!

Dr. Goodall, Reporting for Duty

26 Monday Mar 2012

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Trip type: Personal

Airline: Delta

Route: BOS-MSP

I am nothing if not a serious observer of my surroundings (sidebar: my parents used to call me The Hall Monitor of Life because of my intense scrutiny and cataloging of those around me). I am completely fascinated (and sometimes horrified/annoyed) at how people react when their options are limited. Clearly, an airport is an amazing place to observe human nature…everyone is captive and forced to make due with the resources at hand.

On my flight home from a whirlwind weekend with my college girlfriends in Boston, my interest was piqued by my neighbor, a young woman who had the center seat to my left. She got on the plane very late, but came from the back of it, as though she had gotten all the way down the center aisle only to realize she was sitting in 10E and not 30E.

I didn’t think much of her at first (although I was really amused by her actually reading the safety card. I do usually glance at the emergency door if I’m in an exit row so that I won’t embarrass myself if I actually have to save lives, but I can’t recall the last time I’ve looked at the actual overview. I mentally applauded her effort.) and swiftly partook in my usual pre-takeoff nap. Once awakened by the 10,000 foot bell going off, I took out my iPad and fired it up. My neighbor took out her laptop and started it up as well and this was where things got more interesting–at least from an anthropological perspective.

As you can probably tell (from my last post alone), I’m over-prepared for every occasion. (I even have two sets of headphones in my carry-on in case one gets misplaced. God forbid I can’t hear Jack Donaghy.) So you can imagine my fascination when my seat mate (let’s just call her SM), pretty much had nothing with her for entertainment–not a magazine, an iPod, an abacus…nothing.

SM logged onto the plane’s WiFi but didn’t want to buy GoGo from Delta, so she just perused the sites advertising on delta.com. After looking at every Guess item on gilt.com (I’m not that nosy–this took over an hour…very methodical), she gave up on the computer and shut it down. SM then moved on to the Delta magazine, flipping through it in an agitated manner a few times. She then went back to the emergency exit overview before remembering she had her phone with her. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a smartphone, so it was rendered useless pretty quickly.

At this point I was almost giddy as I awaited her next move (“Is this what Jane Goodall felt like with her binoculars?” I asked myself). Unfortunately, it was to nap for the duration of the flight so that was rather anticlimactic. I’m sure Jane could empathize.

The Battle of Elbow

14 Monday Nov 2011

Posted by in Monday Madness, Seatmate Shenanigans

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Trip type: Business

Airline: Delta

Route: MSP-ATL

Much like the Battle of Elba in 1652 (AP European History geek), the Battle of Elbow is one that’s of critical importance whilst flying. Placing one’s elbow early is imperative. Especially as a smaller person, I find that if I don’t already have my elbow space claimed when my neighbor arrives, the chances of me getting it are slim to none.

A tad melodramatic perhaps (especially as I owe the AP the photo credit) but surely my fellow road warriors can commiserate.

I decidedly lost the battle on this week’s journey south. Although I arrived before my armrest sharing seatmate and had plotted my elbow-flag if you will, this was one of those delightful situations where my neighbor was too large for me to do anything but retract my arm altogether for fear of losing more than a place to rest my weary elbow.

For whatever reason, every time I am upgraded, even just to the exit row (as was the case this morning), I will always, always, get a seatmate who needs a little of my seat as well as his own.* Is this evidence that the travel gods are exacting their revenge for me being in an exit row since my feet barely extend under the seat in front of me in a normal row? Maybe. Probably. Definitely.

In case you are enjoying some schadenfreude, let me put the icing on your cake with two words about my friend in 11B: Sleep. Apnea.

It was a long flight.

*This post is in no way meant to be disparaging to larger people. I understand that seats are smaller than the average American. Discomfort just makes me grouchy.

(Desired) Death of a Salesman

07 Monday Nov 2011

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Trip type: Business

Airline: Delta

Route: MSP-ATL

If you know better than to engage a commercial linoleum salesman in conversation, you might be smarter than [someone who’s the same height as] a fifth grader.

This morning’s trip started off smoothly, despite it putting me back at the airport only 15 hours after I’d stepped out of it (more on that to come). Then I met Kurt (maybe with a C but I feel like it’s a K). And it went a little something like this:

Kurt: Good morning.

Me: Good morning.

K: Business or pleasure?

Me: At 6am it better be business. You?

K: Business. On my way to Birmingham to sell a public storage company some linoleum.

(Intuition tells me to say something non-committal. Curiosity wins.)

Me: Linoleum?

K: Yeah, I sell commercial linoleum.

(Intuition and curiosity spar again. Guess who wins.)

Me: Interesting.

K: It really is! (Oh boy.)

Kurt then regales me with some finer points of linoleum installation which I will gloss over for sake of your sanity and mine (apparently it’s very different to install in different climates–who knew?!). Then he segues into telling me how he helped a friend install some linoleum this weekend.

Kurt: Menard’s is really in trouble though! They didn’t wrap the pallet correctly so the roll  bursted through my pickup’s window on the drive home!

Me: (couldn’t resist) Bursted?

K: Yeah, bursted right through!

(In Kurt’s defense, dictionary.com does list bursted as a past-tense option of burst but I think we can all agree that it sounds stupid.)

Luckily/unluckily, Kurt’s coworker showed up to occupy the seat next to him at this point in the conversation. Luckily, it took Kurt’s attention off of me. Unluckily, it meant I got to hear in even more detail how the linoleum roll bursted through his truck’s back window and how he’s going to litigate Menard’s if he has to.

Needless to say, I was more than a little stabby by the time we hit 10,000 feet and I could finally plug in some music.

[On an unrelated note, there were two amazing mullets on my flight as well. One was a kid which I guess I should forgive and one was a woman who must have been 40-ish. She literally looked like she’d been let out of a time capsule earlier today with her complete 80s look of tapered jeans, high tops and a mock turtleneck. Unless acid wash jeans are making a come back in which case I’m screwed.]

My own worst enemy

07 Friday Oct 2011

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Trip type: Business

Airline: Delta

Route: MSP-ATL

On the cusp of Yom Kippur, I must atone…

I was talking to E about my misadventures the other day in hopes of uncovering other memories I’ve forgotten/repressed and he posed an interesting thought–did I think I had ever been “that person;” the one who does something absurd on an airplane that was surely talked about in my seatmate’s next call home.

I have certainly annoyed many a fellow seatmate (I tend to  laugh out loud when watching 30 Rock on my iPad) but I couldn’t think of a time that I did something I would find so weird that someone might blog about it (the nerve). Until I remembered an April 2011 trip…

I will say, in my defense, that the story has to do with my dog, Bella, who is the other great love of my life. (I mean, look at that punim; what’s not to love?) The cutest dog on the planetWe had just acquired her and were both in the midst of constant travel which necessitated some extra dog help.

Because I am completely neurotic about mostly everything, when we decided to get Bella  a dog-walker, a formal interview was  necessary. Clearly. The plan was for the dog-walker to come to our house to meet E and Bella and then I’d just dial in from Georgia because I had to fly the day the dog-walker could come. Completely normal, right?

Now, my plan had not been to appear as a crazy person. Like any good psychopath, I wanted to keep this little tidbit under wraps and timed the call so that I could do it from my rental car on the drive to the office. Alas, the air travel gods conspired against me and we got in late…so I did the call from the Tarmac.

I initially called home and had a very normal relationship-y call with E telling him I got in safely and coordinating pick-up times for when I’d return. Then the dog-walker showed up and I switched into business mode, asking about how the business works and how the booking process functions. And then I started talking about Bella’s needs. Oh yes, this dog has needs: “She likes to walk by the river but watch out for Segways because they scare her.” “If it’s really warm, give her an ice cube.” “Be sure she only gets a half of a treat at a time.” “Do you think her gums look ok?” Ok, ok, it’s ME who has needs…needs to be crazy.

I hung up 20 minutes later (still on the Tarmac, thankyouverymuch,ATL) and happened to turn to my seatmate who was obviously trying very hard to not laugh. I’m going to assume I might have cameo’ed in a story of his.

Well, glad that’s off my chest. Happy new year!

The Banjo Bandit

10 Saturday Sep 2011

Posted by in Seatmate Shenanigans

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Trip type: Business

Airline: Delta

Route: ATL-MSP

When returning from a work trip, especially one that started with a 6am flight Monday and is ending on an 8pm flight Thursday, the last–and I mean the last–thing I want to do is talk to my seatmate.

Naturally, whenever this perfect storm arises, my seatmate always wants to talk to me. On a Delta weekday flight out of Atlanta chock-full of Zone 1 businessmen who wait to board in a line at the priority boarding carpet and fake call in eleventh hour sales deals, I will invariably not be seated next to one of them. And this is a shame because they are quiet. They too have put in a long week and just want to get a drink and pretend it’s already Friday.

Instead of one of these lovely gentlemen, I will, 90% of the time, get a seatmate like the one I got on this particular trip: an early-70s retiree who’s young enough to be able to torment me with an iPhone but too old to really relate to me in any meaningful way (“I used an abacus when I started my accounting firm!” I don’t think he was kidding.)

I’ve just settled in at my favorite point in the trip: 10,000 feet. I like to start all my trips the same way:

1. Frenzied panic to board until I can rest assured I have overhead space.

2. Furiously email/text until the door shuts.

3. Anxiously monitor the taxi out to ensure there are is no Tarmac “resting”.

4. Catnap until 10,000 feet when I have to make the decision between work and iPad. The iPad almost always wins on trips home.

So here we are at 10,000 feet. Time to boot up the iPad and ensconce myself in some combination of downloaded magazines, music, Sudoku, or shows/movies until the drink cart comes by. Decisions, decisions.

I’m just getting a playlist running and a Sudoku game warmed up when I sense the gentleman next to me leaning over and saying something. I know that I’ve described myself as that person who can’t not talk to someone who initiates conversation but in a setup like this, unless you’re reminding me to take my heels off before we go down an emergency slide, STFU.

I take my earbud out and say, “Sorry?” in a way that I hope conveys that I’m not and he says: “I’ve always wondered how to play that game!” I respond with something noncommittal, hoping we can leave it at that but apparently that’s not in the cards. “So…explain to me what you’re doing.”

Really? Really? I try to be good natured and sort of explain Sudoku but he’s really not getting it, despite the fact he’s a close-talker who’s allllll up in my seat, leaning over the iPad. He mentions that he thought he’d be better at understanding it since he was an accountant and I counter that I thought I’d be worse at understanding it because I was an English major but oh well!

The flight devolves from there, at least for me. I can’t remember the segue (scintillating I’m sure), but somehow I find myself looking at blurry pictures on his iPhone of him and the Banjo Bandits (real) playing at local legions and VFWs and hearing stories of how he learned to play the banjo partly on his own and partly from a homeless man on a park bench (also real. He brought him muffins in return for lessons).

This goes on for the ENTIRE flight. As I’m on the window and he’s in the middle, there’s precisely nowhere to go for two plus hours. I’m pretty stabby by the time we hit MSP.

To top it all off, E blew a tire on the way to get me and I had to take a cab to a sketchy part of south Minneapolis to meet him and take the dog home (who was also coming to greet me) while he waited for a tow truck. The perfect end to a perfect night!